


the ghost in your lungs

by SparkleMoose



Series: Still Blooming [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Summoner Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), also that thing where you hate your former incarnations dad, but shes incomplete and you hate her for it, but you dont, the thing where your kid dies and your find her again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24909070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Fleur is more than certain she's not supposed to remember anything.But she does.(She can't help but wonder how many shards of herself G'raha has pulled over. How many have merged with her in the void between worlds.)
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light
Series: Still Blooming [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874932
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	the ghost in your lungs

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes....u gotta.....write sad fic bout your main......not canon to her story at all but a fun angsty thing none the less

Here is the thing; her stay in the First has been haunted by nightmares. By images of burning cities and running. She has been killed by blade and axe and fire and ice in her dreams and yet the worst of it is when she doesn't die. When Fleur -Circe, her mind whispers, That was our name- is sundered into twelve distinct pieces, when she feels the white hot agony of light searing her soul from seam to seam and she unravels likes spool of yarn.

And she wakes, gasping for breathe.

And she wakes, and something in her soul clinks into place.

* * *

She shouldn’t know Emet, shouldn’t know the bright eyes that watch her as though she’s something interesting. She shouldn’t know exactly how Emet’s eyes will widen when he comes to a conclusion that he doesn’t like.

Fleur stares at him, her tail swishing behind her dangerously as she places herself in front of Minifilia and the others.

“Ah,” Emet says, mocking tone somehow softer as he looks at her, “It would seem you have accomplished the impossible again, child.”

Fleur bristles, opens her mouth to respond and Emet vanishes before the words can escape her mouth.

* * *

He follows her. Fleur can feel him watching just out of sight, stalking at the edges of her family and she hates it. Why doesn't he show himself? Make himself known? Make himself useful even? Fleur doesn't trust him, even as she allows him to wander ever closer to her Scions. To her family. To the people she would do anything to protect. Fleur doesn't trust him, even as something buried deep within her mourns.

 _We know him,_ echoes of forgotten things seem to whisper in her mind, _We know him he was our-_

Fleur cuts that thought off before it can gain any traction.

When Y'shtola first meets them again, she mistakes Fleur for a Sineater.

Fleur thinks of the burning inside of her, remembers how she had been broken apart by light and wonders if it's truly the the light of the First Y'shtola is seeing.

* * *

"You're different," Y'shtola tells Fleur later, "Your aether it's- brighter than before. More complete."

Fleur grins. "Is it?" she says, twirling a strand of hair bleached white in her hands, "I hadn't noticed."

It's a lie, a diversion and they both know it. But Minfilia shows up with Thancred, and the conversation ends.

* * *

"It's true." The words are out of Fleur's mouth before she can stop them. "Emet-Selch speaks the truth."

The Scions stop and stare at her. Alphinaud splutters.

"How could you know?" he demands, "Unless-"

"I saw it," Fleur confirms, her eyes never leaving those of the man she once called father, "Terrible as it was."

"Not something your mistress would wish for you to see I wager," Emet's voice is taunting.

Fleur raises a brow. "It wasn't," she agrees, "But what your lord would think about you having regrets? All because you happen to run into a fragment of the past." 

* * *

Here is the thing, no matter how complete she is. No matter how many shards now make up for soul Fleur is still incomplete in her fathers eyes.

Here is the thing, the light still hurts, and she is no longer skilled or powerful enough to keep it at bay.

* * *

Fleur is dying, light eating away at her inside and she hates. She hates more than she has ever hated anything before. She hates herself for failing, for not being able to contain something that she was supposed to. What use was the Blessing if it didn’t allow her to save those that she loved?

What was Fleur if not a protector? The Scions are hers, the Exarch - G’raha - is hers, the First is hers now and everyone else be damned she will not let what she’s done go to waste.

G’raha tells her of his plans and Fleur smiles as light drips from her lips.

“Raha,” she says, “You fool.”

Her aether reaches out, her aether which has been unruly and terrible since she arrived in the First reaches out takes back the light he stole.

“This is the fate I chose,” she says to G’raha’s stunned face, “Now send me to Void where I may die with some peace.”

A gunshot rings through the air.

G’raha falls and a shadow appears behind him.

Fleur feels something soft and ugly stir in her and she snarls at Emet. Lunging to her feet with the last vestiges of her strength she throws herself past G’raha, past the other Scions and lunges herself at Emet and as her light cracked fist connects with his face she remembers.

Emet-Selch.

Hades.

Father.

The man who taught her to toddle and walk, who let her pursue her curiosity with no limits. The man who had been so proud when she had created Carbuncles as a means to defend and attack and aid. The man who had always been kind to her, who had celebrated her success as his own.

Her father.

The light in her shudders and quakes at this realization and for a moment she feels a hand on her shoulder. Ardbert, she thinks distantly, and then-

Who am I?

“Circe,” Emet says, something possessive and hurt in his tone, “My daughter.”

Fleur feels her eyes widen.

“No,” she says, thinking of Ardbert, of her parents who are dead, of Jack and his rogues, of the Arcanist Guild, of everyone in the Scions and those she has come to love, “Not anymore.”

Light gathers in her hand, draining from her body.

Emet doesn’t have a chance to dodge before it impales him; for a moment he is as he was, untempered and bright and Fleur feels herself crying.

She doesn’t call him father when he dies.

She thinks he didn’t expect her to.

("Remember us," he says, as he fades into nothing, "Remember that we lived."

As if she could forget.)


End file.
